Breaking Point
by achieving elysium
Summary: "He was there, in front of her like something out of a dream, one she'd had for years and years after she'd joined Arobynn. ...He was still her Aedion; she wanted to reach out and touch him, to make sure he was real." Upon Aelin's return to Rifthold, she has three days, an asshole partner to work with, and two people to save - but she isn't Aelin Ashryver Galathynius for nothing.


**Breaking Point**  
achieving elysium

* * *

While Aelin firmly believed Tern to be an asshole and someone she wanted to pummel into a bloody pulp, she had to admit he was useful for _something._ He was a good fighter - not as good as her, but while she stormed through the king's guard, he was one step behind her, his blade silent and deadly.

"Which way," Tern growled, and Aelin fought the urge to run him through with Goldryn. She had to focus. Still, just seeing Tern, having him nearby... it was disconcerting. She hated the way his gaze settled on her back, heavy and hateful, but even more so, she hated how familiar it felt to have another assassin at her back, watching. If she closed her eyes, she could just imagine Sam in his place, handsome, kind Sam.

She looked around, taking in the familiar sights. They had very little time and too many things to do. "That way," she said, pointing. The same stairwell she'd been dragged down, dark and musty. Aelin found a torch and took it from its place, lighting it. The fire - small as it was - kept the darkness at bay.

"So this is the king's dungeons," Tern murmured, something glinting in his eyes. It made her uneasy.

"Shut up," she snapped, and the fire shivered as a cold draft blew through. Aedion _had_ to be here somewhere. He _had_ to be. "Help me find him."

They split up, Aelin going left and Tern going right. She let out a breath of air as they moved away from each other, not quite alone but further away. She peered into each cell, bracing herself to see _him._ Aedion, her brash but loyal cousin. He would hate her for what she'd become. He'd hate her for turning her back on her country, for kneeling at the feet of a man who'd slaughtered their family. It would hurt, of course, but she would understand. She'd fought so many monsters and had lived amongst quite a few to the point where she'd become one herself.

"I hope your cousin isn't dead," Tern drawled, and Aelin's heart stuttered. _No._ "It would be a shame if he died a day before his execution." She was there in a heartbeat, her dagger drawn, ready to pick off the lock or cut it off if need be, but Tern had beaten her to it. She shoved the torch at him, ignoring his surprised sputters.

"Aedion," she breathed, darting into the cell and then pausing, her hands fluttering uselessly. She knelt carefully by his side and waited - waited for a reassurance that she hadn't been too late. " _Aedion."_

He _was_ there, in front of her like something out of a dream, one she'd had for years and years after she'd joined Arobynn. Older now, much taller with bulging muscles and scars that lined his body, but still the same in the birthmark that adorned his ankle and the shape of his jaw. He let out a breath and rolled over, eyes fluttering. He was still her Aedion; she wanted to reach out and touch him, to make sure he was real.

Turquoise eyes stared blearily up at her. "A-Aelin," he said, sitting up slowly, eyes wide. Ashryver eyes, her mother had called them once upon a time, in a faraway land where things like war were nothing but a bad dream.

That seemed to break the spell. She couldn't help herself; she darted forward and threw her arms around him, pressing her face in the crook of his neck. She could hear his heartbeat, steady in a world of chaos. He stiffened, and Aelin let go immediately, drawing back, her heart squeezing painfully. Her eyes burned. He _did_ hate her then.

"I'm sorry," she said, and her voice was colder, quieter. Aelin averted her eyes. "I shouldn't have done that."

"No, no," Aedion said, and rough hands grabbed hers. "No, _Aelin_ -"

"As touching as this is," Tern's voice floated over to them as he leaned against the cell door. He rolled his eyes. "we don't have much time, _Your Majesty."_ Aedion growled, and Aelin put a hand on his shoulder without looking, feeling his muscles tense. She half-wanted to just let her cousin do the pummeling, but Tern had a point.

"We should go," Aelin said, standing and offering a hand to Aedion. He took it. They'd treated him horribly; she could see that more clearly now he was standing. Dressed only in a paper-thin tunic and a pair of ripped, bloody pants, he looked rougher than she'd ever imagined him to be. She could see red welts forming at his wrists and ankles. He'd been bound, but he was free tonight - the same night she'd decided to rescue him. Aelin shivered. Something wasn't right; something didn't add up.

"Aelin," Aedion said as she pulled him out of the cell. The three went for the stairs.

"Quiet," she hissed, letting go of him. It came out harsher than she meant it to, but Aelin was on edge. Something crawled under her skin, an unease, as if her magic was in her but could not be released. She missed its warmth, the fire that filled her very soul. "I know we need to talk, Aedion, but we need to leave."

He was stiff and sore after being locked away for so long, thin and poorly-looking, but he managed to keep up. They were almost to the exit when Aelin stopped.

"Get out of here," she told Tern sternly. She jerked her head towards her cousin. "And take him with you. Chaol's waiting for you."

Tern didn't seem surprised, though he was pleased at the thought of leaving without her. Aedion stared.

"Wherever you're going, I'm going," he insisted, and Tern groaned.

"No," she snapped, but Aelin softened when his eyes met hers. She reached out with a shaky hand and traced his jaw with her fingers. His hand came up and caught hers. "I have to find Dorian. I promised. He can't stay here; it's too dangerous for him." Tern snorted at that.

"Let me go with you," Aedion pleaded but she shook her head, stepping back.

"I have to know you're safe," she told him. Aelin was reminded of a time when they were younger, and her mother had to leave Terrasen to go to Wendlyn - to meet Maeve. She had begged to go along ( _"Please, Mother, please!")_ But Evalin had told them no, repeating the same exact words Aelin had said just seconds ago. " _Please,_ Aedion."

He looked at her, the pain in his eyes raw and real. She wondered if he was thinking of the same exact thing as she was. He remained silent, wavering on the edge of a decision.

Aelin straightened, taking a deep breath. " _Go,_ Aedion," and this time, her voice was stronger, authoritative - not a woman to her cousin but a queen to one in her court.

He'd noticed the change, and Aedion, too, straightened. "Come back, my queen." Queen, not princess. Something in her softened, and she gave him a curt nod before turning sharply on her heel and sweeping down the hall. Dorian's room - well, tower - was on the far side of the castle, past the library. Her room was nearby as well; perhaps she would go to the tomb, first.

Aelin paused in the doorway of her room, sighing. There in the corner, the pianoforte she'd loved, the table she'd spent hours at eating stolen cake and piling books upon books on, the desk she'd put all research things on, pouring over old books and scratching notes onto parchment. And there- in the chair-

Aelin drew her sword and stalked forward, her footsteps silent. She neared the figure slumped in her chair, and the person jerked up. Philippa opened her mouth, about to scream, but Aelin moved quickly, pressing her hand against her mouth.

"It's me," she whispered, and Philippa gasped against her fingertips. "Stay quiet, _please_." She let go, and the two stared at each other.

"Celaena, what are you doing here? The king would kill you if he knew."

"You need to get out of here," she told Philippa. "Leave immediately. Go to your chambers and pack up whatever you need, then _get out._ There's something happening, Philippa, something beyond you would ever understand. I- you've done so much for me; I need... you need to go."

Philippa stared before standing up. "I'm not going to question you, Celaena," she said, walking towards the door. "but before I go... I was in the hall, and someone passed me and went to your chambers. I know you- you keep some secrets, so I followed, but by the time I came inside, he was gone."

Aelin lifted Goldryn, the sword's familiar weight comforting. "Thank you, Philippa," she dismissed, and the woman hurried out of the room. The moment she was gone, Aelin pushed aside the tapestry, eyes lingering on the Northern star. Dust motes floated, disturbed. Someone _had_ been here recently.

"Took _you_ long enough," someone said rudely, and Aelin almost screamed, clamping her teeth down to stop it. She bit on her tongue, and a wave of pain washed through her mouth. She hissed out a curse.

"Damn you, Mort," she growled at the brass doorknocker. "I'd forgotten how annoying you are."

"So, witch slayer, and now you're a Valg killer as well?" Aelin felt a chill creep down her spine, and the darkness loomed over her. She swallowed hard but went for a smile.

"Do you like my hair?" she asked, tucking a too-short stand behind her ear. It fell back in front of her face again. "The Valg were kind enough to do it for me."

Mort laughed, but then he quieted. "You should not be here, Aelin," he warned, and she didn't both questioning how he knew _anything_ about her. "Your- _friend_. He has chosen his side. The towers-" He cut himself off, cursing his loose tongue.

"The towers," Aelin repeated, and something clicked. The clock tower with the gargoyles, the catacomb beneath the library, the stone- the Guardians. "Elena. Where is she?"

Mort paused, knowing she was on the cusp of a dangerous realization. "She cannot come." The Guardians. She'd walked with Nehemia once, in the garden, spotting the strange Wyrdmarks etched into stone. She'd wondered what Elena meant about the Guardians; what did they guard? And the towers - not _tower_ , like she'd believed, but multiple, scattered across the continent.

"Magic. The Guardians, they guard-" she breathed. "They guard the Otherworld or the magic or _something_. The king- he's been using them." Her mind raced, desperately trying to connect the dots. When Mort remained silent, she knew she was right.

"You need to leave immediately," Mort suddenly said. The hairs on the back of her neck raised.

"Wait, why?"

"This castle is no longer safe. You are no longer safe. There is someone waiting for you-"

"But Dorian," she protested, and Mort froze as well as a doorknocker could.

"You _must_ leave him." But Aelin gritted her teeth, determined.

"He's my _friend_. I need to help him." _I'll come back for you._

"Your _friend_ -"

A scraping noise. Mort went still and silent, and Aelin backed against the wall, rough stone against skin. Here, she'd tried to open a portal - and succeeded. The sound came again, and Goldryn's eye glinted. For a fleeting second, she wished she'd taken the Eye of Elena back when Chaol had offered. But if whatever _this thing_ was was crawling around in the castle at night, what horrors hid in the shadows of Adarlan? It was better off with Chaol, to warn and protect him.

"Who's there?" she called, heart beating frantically. Perhaps the Eye of Elena belonged elsewhere, but Rowan should be here, his presence comforting and the smell of pine and snow something to cling to. A selfish thought, but he was _hers._ She'd claimed him, her _carranam,_ her soul friend.

A dark figure shifted, and the scraping noise came again. A small square of moonlight spilled in from the entryway, and Aelin's eyes had long since adjusted to the dark. A sword, and its wielder was sharpening it. _Sharpening it before the kill,_ her mind whispered, and her blood ran cold.

"Show yourself," she demanded, and a familiar face did. "Dorian?" she cried, unable to keep the surprise and relief out of her voice. "Dorian, I- I thought you would be in your chambers. It doesn't matter; we need to leave. Come on, Chaol and Ren and Nesryn are waiting."

He stepped forward, sharpening his sword one more time. Aelin faltered. "Dorian?" she asked, her throat dry.

Dorian smiled, showing stained teeth. She couldn't tell, but they almost looked red. Aelin felt like she was suffocating, the air closing in around her. A Wyrdstone collar gleamed at his throat. Her ears rung, but when he spoke, his words were clear. "Looking for me?"

* * *

 **And here is my (technically) third piece for the Throne of Glass series. I originally had this on tumblr but decided to put it here since it ended up behind so long.**

 **I'm completely obsessed with Valg!Dorian. Like, can I get some more of that please. It's really sad, but I can't help it. Just... the idea of Dorian - kind, sweet, _strong_ Dorian being overtaken by a Valg prince, using twisted snippets of conversations and mocking everyone... **

**Oops. (Also, self-plug time: go check out my tumblr! I'm under the same name, and I guess I post writing/cute/important stuff on there, but I'm starting to pull it over into a more fandom/fanfiction side, so..)**

 _achieving elysium_


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